Exit
by Simon920
Summary: Dick's plane explodes mid air. Warnings: This is sort of a death fic, sort of. It is also mild slash, though not graphic and not much. Honest. If you don't like that sort or thing--angsty death fics and the like, don't read this, OK?


Title: Exit  
Author: Simon  
Pairing: Dickâ€and I don't want to give it away  
Rating: PG-13.  
Summary: Dick's plane is down.  
Warnings: Deathfic/slash (but not much). Angst o'rama.  
Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst  
luck, so don't bother me.  
  
Feedback: Hell, yes, have at it. Baeden2020y...  
  
This is just another little AU of an AU. It's a stand alone, I  
suppose. Hey it's been raining all weekâ€it's depressing, y'know?  
  
Exit  
  
The word had gone out quickly throughout the community; by  
communicator, by phone, by word of mouth.  
  
The Titans, the JLA, the JSA, the various police forces who had  
reason to know who he was, all were quietly informed. Interpol was  
told, the FBI, the CIA, the KGB and M5. They were all notified and people ateach place were saddened by the loss, but not surprised.  
  
He had been so young, so talented and so very good at what he did,  
but it was so dangerous that what had happened was really just a  
matter of time. It was inevitable, sooner or later if you thought  
about it. It was bound to happen sooner or later, the way he worked  
and lived and did his job. He'd been one of the good ones, though;  
there was no getting around that.  
  
Reckless, of course, but then they all were when you came down to  
it. It was practically part of the job description. And impulsive.  
  
It had to happen  
  
There would be no official announcement, but everyone would know.  
  
Nightwing was dead.  
  
One by one his friends, the people he'd worked with and the  
criminals he'd fought learned the news.  
  
He was dead. Gone. Killed.  
  
It was official, or as official as these things ever were. It was  
definite; there was no mistake, no trick. It was real.  
  
The man was dead.  
  
Jim Gordon heard the news while reading through the next year's  
budget report. His secretary had stood at his office door, telling  
him there was a call on three that sounded important. It was his  
daughter and she sounded upset.  
  
He had picked up the receiver to hear crying and the anguished, "Oh,  
Daddy"  
  
Barbara had told him, her voice breaking, how she had been talking  
to him on the radio while he was piloting his private jet to Europe.  
He'd been telling her that he was on his way to visit his  
grandfather, that he missed the old man and hadn't seen him in  
almost six months. He was planning on surprising Papa for his  
seventieth birthday, laughing about the look he'd have on his face  
when his grandson walked in as cool as ice as though he'd just  
walked around the corner instead of having flown half way around the  
world.  
  
They had joked back and forth, he had told her that he'd be back by  
the end of the week and they'd get together Friday, maybe have a  
night on the town. In fact she should buy herself a new dress—no, he  
meant it. They'd go out someplace really nice. It would be great,  
maybe catch a show while they were at it. She should look through  
the listings then get tickets to whatever she was in the mood for,  
he was easy. "I know you are." No. Really, they'd do something  
special, just the two of them, they were overdue. Besides, he'd  
missed her birthday last month and he owed her one. He was laughing  
  
Then Dick had said something, Barbara thought it sounded like "Oh,  
shitâ€Fuck!" And the line had gone dead.  
  
That was it. Nothing else. Not another sound, not another word.  
Silence.  
  
She had immediately called up radar and accessed the trace that was  
always on one of the family' planes. The radar had shown hundreds  
of small objects where there should have been one large one and the  
trace was coming up malfunction'.  
  
The plane was gone. Period. Just like that.  
  
She had called for help, of course. She had sent out an urgent call  
for Clark who had responded in seconds. He had gone to the last  
known position to check and then flown directly to her tower. He had  
told her, gently, that there was debris both on the surface of the  
ocean and on it's way to the bottom. He'd found an emergency  
parachute almost intact and undeployed. It hadn't been used. There  
apparently hadn't been time.  
  
There was no indication of any kind of foul play, no trace of  
explosives or shells or bomb parts. He had looked through  
everything. There was nothing. He'd found temperature gauges  
indicating that the engine may have been running hot. As far as he  
could tell, in his opinion, his best analysis indicated simple  
mechanical failure.  
  
The plane had exploded violently and with almost no warning.  
  
Dick must have died instantly. When she had asked he told her, as  
kindly as he could, that there wasn't enough of him left to recover  
then he had called Dinah to stay with her so she wouldn't be alone.  
Barbara had been given sedatives and Oracle was unavailable for  
almost a day and a half. It was unprecedented.  
  
Next Clark had gone to the League and broken the news to J'onn and  
Diana, the two on duty. They'd tell the others, make the  
announcement so that Clark could get to Gotham. Some thought that  
Bruce should have been he first to know but Clark had just said that  
he wasn't ready to see the look on his face when he got the news and  
he needed a few minutes to think about what he would say.  
  
The reaction at the JLA was that of stunned acceptance or denial,  
depending on whom you spoke to. They had all known Nightwing for  
years; most of them had known him as the original Robin and Dick  
Grayson as well.  
  
Without exception they had liked him, respected him both personally  
and professionally and a number of the members had watched him grow  
up in front of them. He'd developed from a precocious, traumatized  
and talented kid into a trained crime fighter able to hold his own  
with any of them—and in many cases, surpass them.  
  
He was a good comrade, dependable and unfailingly reliable, plus  
he'd been fun to have around, upbeat and usually cheerful while  
getting whatever job was at hand done as well it was possible to do.  
  
He'd been one of the best and most of the JLA had assumed that he'd  
be a full member one of these days. In fact, all he'd have had to do  
was say the word and he'd have been in. It would have been a lock.  
He was an asset anywhere he went; to anyone he worked with and they  
all knew it. All he had to do was tell them he wanted to join and  
that would have been it.  
  
Clark had broken the news to Bruce right after he had left the  
League. No one else knew how to do it and was reluctant to try. The  
relationship between Bruce and Dick had run too many gauntlets of up  
and down and was so convoluted and unresolved that it had seemed  
likely it would never be completely sorted out—and now, of course,  
if never would.  
  
Diana had called Clark an hour later, asking how he'd taken the  
news, was there anything they could do to help him? No, there  
wasn't, but thanks for asking.  
  
Evidently Clark had gone to the offices at Wayne Corp, interrupted  
some big board meeting and had been allowed in when Bruce was  
finally told who was there to see him. Clark wouldn't do anything  
that brazen if it wasn't urgent.  
  
They had gone to his private office and Clark had told him directly  
and simply. Bruce had taken a breath, nodded, thanked him and turned  
to look, unseeing, out the window. Clark knew he was dismissed and  
had let himself out. Bruce hadn't contacted anyone since then and no  
one was surprised, though a number of his friends tried to call.  
They were told, politely but firmly, that Mr. Wayne wasn't taking  
any calls, thank you, but they were welcome to leave a message.  
  
The Titans were hit almost as hard by the news when Clark stopped by  
the Tower next. It was more personal for them since the original  
members were still the closest of friends. They still shared  
adventures and adversity and pizza and supported one another through  
problems with their various guardians and mentors and their own  
individual crushes and love lives, just like they had done since  
they were twelve or thirteen.  
  
Whether they were actually working together or not, they were  
constants in one another's lives.  
  
They'd each lost a large part of themselves and they knew the gap  
was unfillable.  
  
He had been the heart and the soul of the original group and they  
all knew it. He was irreplaceable.  
  
They each handled the loss in their own way. Roy, who still credited  
Robin with saving his life with the intervention he'd staged back  
when heroin was the problem of the day, reverted to his roots. First  
he had held Lian for a long time, playing with her, reading to her  
and needing the closeness. Finally, when she fell asleep and had  
been put to bed, he chanted and prayed as he'd been taught to do  
when he'd lived among the tribes out west and it seemed to bring him  
some peace.  
  
Wally had run until even he couldn't run anymore, exhausting himself  
and then had gone to Dick's apartment to make sure that there was  
nothing which might cause any problem or embarrassment when the  
place was cleared out. There wasn't much. Dick lived a pretty clean  
life, of course, but there were a stack of private letters that had  
been tied with a purple satin ribbon and a half used box of condoms  
along with a few toys that had probably been purchased near Times  
Square. He had tossed them and the box in a dumpster several blocks  
from the apartment. He was going to throw the letters away as well,  
but after reading the top letter on the pile, had quietly tucked  
them in his jacket pocket.  
  
Donna had done what she could to help the others. She had lent and  
ear and a shoulder when it was needed and had done everything she  
could to help Alfred arrange the service, telling him about Dick's  
music preferences and the charities he supported. She cried, of  
course, feeling that she had lost a favorite brother and wondered  
how things might have turned out differently if they had ever given  
in to the attraction that had been between them for years. They  
never had, but they used to joke about and knew they were only half  
joking.  
  
Garth dealt, as he tended to, by drawing within himself. He went for  
long solitary swims and wrote for hours in his quarters. By the  
second day, unable to stand being in the tower any longer, he had  
gone back to Atlantis and stayed there. He resigned his membership  
in the Titans electronically and let them know he would be there if  
they needed his help, but he couldn't be there anymore without  
Robbie around. The silence was too loud. Knowing how deeply and how  
long he had grieved after Tula's death, they had let him go but told  
him they were still his friends. He just said that he knew that, it  
wouldn't change, but he couldn't bear to be on the surface now.  
  
Alfred, who had apparently been told by Bruce later that first day,  
had made the call to the Bludhaven precinct where Dick had worked.  
He had identified himself as Officer Grayson's grandfather and most  
deeply regretted, what he meant to say was that the young officer  
had been killed while on vacation. Yes, they were all quite upset,  
as you could imagine. No, the arrangements hadn't been made, but he  
would be sure they were informed as soon as he knew more. Thank you,  
yes, he had been so very special to them all, to everyone who knew  
him. No, there was really nothing they could do. No, no flowers,  
please. There would be a charity named where donations could be sent  
in Richard's name. If they would forgive him, he really had to go.  
There was so much to do.  
  
Bruce, of course, had obsessively done everything he could to find  
the cause of the plane's destruction. He'd called Arthur Curry to  
recover the wreckage and eventually spent months in the cave going  
over each and every part. He'd run every test that could be run, run  
every computer simulator he could get his hands on and in the end it  
all came down to Clark's original conclusion. The jet had gone down  
because of simple mechanical failure. A part had snapped, the engine  
had jammed and become overheated and then it had simply exploded.  
  
It couldn't have been predicted, there was no way to foresee it  
happening and there would have been nothing Dick could have done  
once the crisis had started. There would have been no time to  
jettison and nothing that could have saved the machine.  
  
From the moment the warning light flashed on the control panel, Dick  
had seconds to live.  
  
Bruce emerged from the cave to attend the memorial service and once  
in a while he'd go into the office, but that was rare and becoming  
less and less frequent as the weeks went by. Batman seemed to have  
gone into a grief induced seclusion as well, and Alfred despaired.  
Nothing he said or did made any difference and he began to worry for  
the master's sanity. It frightened the old man and he begged Bruce  
to stop or back off to no effect.  
  
The Memorial service was held for Richard John Grayson at Saint  
Catherine's Catholic Church near to the Manor. That had been the  
faith his parents had raised him in and though he rarely went to  
church, those were his basic beliefs. Well, as far as anyone could  
tell, anyway.  
  
No one who was asked could ever remember him ever talking about  
religion, so they just sort of assumed.  
  
His parents had been buried with a high Mass and so Bruce had  
requested the same for Dick.  
  
There had been a few times after he'd gone to live with Bruce, not  
many, when Dick would sit in the back of that church, not really  
taking part in the ceremony, just quietly taking it in and would  
usually come back to the manor calmer.  
  
That morning the old building was crowded with standing room only.  
No one was surprised. It's always a shock when a young person dies,  
of course, but when it was someone like Dick with friends and  
coworkers from almost everywhere, it was to be expected.  
  
He was given a full Police Honor Guard from both Bludhaven and the  
small town where the manor was located. They lined the street and  
the kilted bagpiper's played a dirge.  
  
There was no coffin because there was no body.  
  
After the Priest was finished friends got up to talk. The memorial  
was for Dick Grayson so that's who was eulogized and the speakers  
went on for over an hour and a half. Everyone from old classmates to  
Lucius Fox to some of the Haley Circus people who had come to say  
goodbye got up to speak about the young man they'd known. They told  
stories about how he'd been the first person in the United States to  
turn a quad when he was only eight and they talked about his late  
night teenaged outings in high school. One friend talked about his  
fearlessness on a ski slope and another about his devotion to his  
grandfather, making the trip to Europe at least twice a year. Lucius  
said how he'd been looking forward to the day Dick would take his  
place at Wayne Enterprises and Alfred, dry eyed, told about how  
bringing a young boy into his home was the last thing he'd wanted  
and the best thing that could have happened, muddy footprints and  
loud music aside.  
  
Afterwards there was a reception at Wayne Manor. It was in perfect  
taste, of course, because Alfred had made the arrangements. Food and  
drinks were served and there were a couple of old family picture  
albums starting with his childhood with his parents at the circus  
and ending with his graduation from the Police Academy. In every  
picture he was happy and smiling.  
  
Bruce stood and accepted the condolences and the hugs and the  
promises that people would call, knowing that they wouldn't.  
  
Someone even said, slightly too loudly and was overheard, that it  
was bound to happen. Take in a blue-collar orphan, try to help him,  
do right by him and class will win out every time. The kid took  
everything Wayne could give him and then got himself killed for his  
pains. He probably couldn't handle an expensive piece of equipment  
like a jet and should have just bought a ticket on Lufthansa or  
something.  
  
Bruce stared at the woman, barely refrained from saying anything,  
turned and walked upstairs.  
  
Alfred handed the woman her coat and suggested, somewhat forcefully,  
that she was no longer be welcomed there. No one had ever heard  
Alfred border on rude before and no one blamed him.  
  
The reception ended shortly after that.  
  
Later that night there was another memorial service, this one for  
Nightwing, nee Robin.  
  
It was held at the Tower and everyone in spandex showed up for what  
was as close to an Irish wake as they could get. The Titans, old  
and new were there, the entire JLA and the JSA showed up and a few  
others as well. There was music and too much to eat and drink and  
everyone told stories about the departed guest of honor and it  
continued for hours, finally winding down just past dawn. About the  
only one not there was Tempest. Arthur made his excuses, explaining  
that he was simply too upset to come, but that he'd honor Nightwing  
in his own way.  
  
Everyone understood. Poor Garth, he was such a gentle soul when you  
got to know him.  
  
Donna and Kory cried the hardest and Barbara, determined to be  
stoic, finally broke down as well. The jealousy that used to just  
simmer below the surface between the three women was pointless now  
and they gave in to reminiscing about his attributes and talent'  
where women were concerned—which were considerable to hear them  
talk. The conversation passed x-rated and the boys were all ears.  
That was a side of Nightwing they may have suspected but hadn't  
known for sure until now.  
  
Roy and Wally traded stories with Clark and Diana about catching the  
two older heroes making out at some Christmas party and producing  
the previously secret pictures Robbie had managed to sneak.  
  
Wally hadn't told anyone about the love letters he'd found and  
guiltily read. He'd had no idea that Dick had been involved with—no,  
no one knew as far as he could tell. He'd burned the damned things.  
It was nobody's business.  
  
Bruce, slightly drunk for the first time anyone could remember, told  
everyone that Robin saved his life more times than he could count  
and not just literally. If the boy hadn't moved in when he had,  
Bruce might have become obsessed and out of touch with the common  
man.  
  
They had all known that for years.  
  
No one said anything but the ones within earshot wondered just how  
low the Bat would have gone if Dick hadn't decided that making Bruce  
laugh on a daily basis was one of his goals in life.  
  
The party was a good one and Dick would have had a great time. They  
all knew that, just like they all knew that they had all lost a good  
friend and a major player and one who's passing wouldn't be shuffled  
under some rug. He wouldn't be forgotten.  
  
Robin, later Nightwing had been one of the best.  
  
In a large room that was part of a private suite in the royal palace  
of Shayeris the newly crowned king lay with his lover. They could be  
together now without the complications and secrecy which had made  
their lives together almost unbearable for the last few years.  
  
Their lives had revolved around security and secrecy. They had felt  
constrained to live a lie for the sake of international negotiations  
and the treaties that had to be finalized and signed and after some  
subtle questions it was made clear that Atlantis' liberal policy  
toward personal relationships would not be appreciated on the  
international stage. Dick had also believed that if his private life  
were made public—as Dick Grayson—Bruce would be adversely affected.  
Wayne Corp would suffer and he would be compromised as a potential  
future CEO of the company. He also had come to believe, despite  
Garth's protests, that if Nightwing became known as the Gay Hero,  
he'd lose his effectiveness.  
  
They had begun planning this over a year ago. It had taken that long  
to get all the pieces in place and everything arranged and despite  
their misgivings and concerns, their second thoughts and deep regret  
about the pain they'd be causing their closest friends, everything  
had worked out exactly as they had hoped.  
  
The two men were deeply sorry that some of their friends couldn't be  
told yet and that they had caused the people they loved pain, but  
they would grieve and then they would move on. In time everyone  
would be told, but for now this was for the best. The fewer who  
knew, the less change that the secret would be broken.  
  
Garth was still a national leader and becoming more important as the  
world became smaller. He was still needed to bridge the gap between  
the Atlantis and the surface. He needed to keep his reputation  
without trivia getting in the way.  
  
Dick, unable to just disappear without a backward look, had left  
Alfred a letter that would be delivered in a couple of days. It  
explained what had happened, begged him to forgive them and made it  
clear that Dick had been so hounded that he felt there was no other  
way out. Besides, he had thought about it for a long time and the  
truth was that he was frustrated with what he was doing. He'd been  
in the life since he was ten and, try as he might, he couldn't see  
that he had accomplished anything lasting.  
  
They fought year after year and never seemed to gain any ground. He  
wanted time for himself now. He wanted to do what he wanted for once  
and if he didn't make the break now he likely never would.  
  
He had learned that his and Garth's relationship was going to be  
featured in several tabloids soon. He had tried to stop the editors  
from running the story but they had refused. It was too good a  
scandal. With him dead and Garth back home, they'd taken the teeth  
out of it. Please tell Bruce and his grandfather that he loved them  
both and would be in touch when he could.  
  
He wanted to tell them sooner, but they needed the reactions to be  
genuine if they were going to make this work.  
  
The arrangements had been made for their marriage to take place next  
week and they were quietly satisfied about how everything had worked  
out even better than they had hoped. Without Clark's and Arthur's  
help it would have been too complicated a plan to even consider but  
with good friends, they had carried it off perfectly.  
  
Shayeris needed her king in place. The King needed his lover to  
function happily and well. His lover had tired of the role-playing  
and lies his life demanded and equally needed to be with his heart's  
soul.  
  
The kingdom was secure, they would be together. They would make this  
would work for now.  
  
7/14/04


End file.
